


Seven Days

by Dreamicide



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Fakiru Week, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 18,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamicide/pseuds/Dreamicide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries written for 'Fakiru Week,' all based on different prompts. Ranges from humorous, to angst, to over the top fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Fakiru Week takes place every year from September 24th to the 30th. Prompts are typically released August 1st. You can find more details [here](http://fakiru-week.deviantart.com) if you are interested in participating!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2011: Blue. Takes place post-series after Ahiru is transformed back into a girl.

Leaning against the window, Fakir's eyes skimmed over the crinkled pages in his hands with a stern expression. He was never much of an editor, but for this story he had to be absolutely certain there were no mistakes. Just one slip-up could affect the entire ending, and he'll be damned if he let anything like that happen.  
  
Turning to the second page, Fakir made sure to read each sentence at least twice, no matter how repetitive and boring it may have been. It was definitely the right bird. He definitely made sure to state that the results would specifically be  _permanent_.   
  
But as far as he could tell, there were no mistakes. Sure, perhaps if that were the case then it would have been blatantly noticeable the moment she stepped out of the lake's edge, but the teen still just had to reiterate himself.   
  
It had already been several hours since he first breathed life into the story. It was a long plan in the running—and so far, it seemed that everything went smoothly. Ahiru was human again. She could walk, talk, laugh, pout, and she wasn't turning back.  
  
As soon as he once again read over the ink-stained pages, Fakir's attention was taken by the loud clattering taking up the kitchen in the floor below. He rolled his eyes—no doubt in his mind that the noises were being caused by the redhead—and pushed himself off the window ledge to make his way downstairs.   
  
As he neared down the hallway, only more noises reached his ears. Damn it, if she was so hungry she should have just told him. She should still be getting used to having her human form back after years of being a duck, after all. If Ahiru was a klutz  _beforehand_ …  
  
Making a mental note to go ahead and burn the story in his hands while he was down there, Fakir blinked at the sight of the girl struggling to hold up a pot of water. He sighed, stepping towards her while placing the stack of papers over on the table. "Here, idiot, don't go around making a mess out of—"  
  
And that was when he belatedly noticed her choice of attire. His eyes widened, and he took a step back to hide the rising blush from his face. "You—what the hell are you wearing?!"  
  
He watched as Ahiru turned to him, confusion settling in her brows. "What I'm…?" Her gaze dropped down to her front, clothing buttoned up along the middle and fingers just barely able to reach the very opening of the sleeves. The bottom of the cloth only just reached her legs, giving the absolute minimal covering of her lower body. It was one of the jackets issued to male students of the academy—quite oversized on her, and for good reason. It was his.   
  
"Why are you still  _wearing_  that?" he interrogated. "I thought Charon gave you a dress."  Or rather, in the days before writing her back, Fakir went out into town with the man and picked out a set of clothing that looked suitable for her human form, of which Charon immediately paid for. The teen gave her a glare, wondering why she didn't put that on instead.   
  
And Ahiru shot him a pout, leaning over to put the pot of water over on the counter before turning to him, arms crossed indignantly over her torso. "The dress is too small for me, and besides, it's  _winter!_  Why'd you have to change me back when it was freezing outside, and even when I was still  _swimming_ in the lake, you big jerk?"  
  
Fakir felt himself stiffen at her answer.   
  
…It was definitely something he had forgotten to take into account. For the past few weeks, he had been too engrossed in creating the story to even think about something as unimportant as the current weather.   
  
So once he had finally gathered enough confidence that he could pull off the transformation, he did so almost immediately that prior day. With him sitting on the docks, and her bobbing along the water's edge of a lake that was fit to freeze over in mere days.   
  
Several minutes later, he was blushing like mad, wrapping his blue uniform jacket around the shivering girl as she clung to his shirt and bit his head off in confusion and shock at why she was suddenly exposed to the chilling atmosphere in bare skin.   
  
…He made sure Charon left the dress at the foot of her bed that morning. But now there she was, still wearing that same covering and crossing her arms with a huff. What did she  _mean_  it didn't fit?   
  
Face fuming a deep red, Fakir pointed accusingly at the girl. "Don't be stupid, just—change into something  _else_ , moron!" Seeing her only barely covered by something of his own was…he had to concentrate on not squirming uncomfortably.   
  
She only gave him a frown, lips pursing out. "There's nothing else for me to wear! …Besides, it's  _warm_." And as if to accentuate that statement, she wrapped her arms stubbornly around herself, creasing the folds all across the front as Fakir stood there trying to figure out if he needed to clean that blue jacket as soon as possible or never wash it again.


	2. Youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2011: Youth. Takes place in an AU.

"Duck, duck, duck, duck…"  
  
The group of children sat cross-legged in their circle, many squirming around and unable to sit perfectly still as the light-haired boy trotted around the perimeter, fingers tapping along the heads of his peers.   
  
"Duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck…"  
  
Fakir sat down between two of his classmates, knees tucked up under his chin as he stared ahead, uninterested in the game. Free time, a period normally anticipated by all children his age, was one that rather grated his nerves. The small boy would much rather keep to himself while the others ran around chasing each other, but the teachers constantly badgered him to interact with his peers. It was annoying. And most of the free periods were spent with him almost sulking, sitting near the other children just to get the adults to stop talking to him. He barely spoke with the others.  
  
"Duck…duck…duck…"  
  
His eyebrow twitched, almost tempted to just stand up and shove at the kid if he so much as heard one more stupid utterance of 'duck.' It was a stupid game. They were all stupid.  _Especially_  the girls who kept pushing at him for no reason he could find.   
  
As the light-haired boy neared to the other side of the large circle, Fakir watched lazily, gaze trailing over the children skipped over. From one moment to the next, his eyes were caught by a small girl—rather  _exceptionally small_ ,  toying with the hem of her yellow dress and strands of red hair coming free of her messy braid. All of her attention was focused on the boy nearing her, and as he continued tapping over the other kids with a defiant 'duck,' Fakir watched as her eyes almost seemed to perk up, as if in anticipation for—  
  
But the boy passed over her, giving almost too hard of a tap with a sneer and a mocking tone. " _Duck_ ," he said, moving right on to the other child before immediately shouting out "GOOSE!"   
  
The scene automatically jumped to life, with children cheering and shouting as the kid next to the small girl jumped up on his feet and began sprinting behind the other, chasing and reaching out with laughter and determination.   
  
As the two passed behind Fakir's back, he didn't even notice the ridiculous scene. Once he saw the girl directly across from him, he simply didn't look away, watching as her face fell. Her eyes dropped, hands going back to playing with the edge of her dress. Meanwhile in the background, the boy next to her managed to catch up with the light-haired one, and the game slowly resumed with the monotonous chanting of 'duck, duck, duck…'  
  
Fakir raised his eyebrow. Did she actually want to be picked as the goose? She was so small. Fakir doubted that she could have caught up with the boy even if she ran as fast as her little legs could carry her. Besides, the game was just  _stupid_.   
  
Even so, he couldn't stop himself from carefully observing her for the rest of the game. Every time her head would perk up as a kid neared, that look of disappointment when he or she would pass her…she almost looked more engaged in the activity than the rest of the children, even though not once was she chosen as the goose.   
  
She was weird. And he didn't know why he kept looking at her.   
  
Eventually the bell sounded out in the distance, and everyone had to go back inside to resume their classes. Fakir didn't bother thinking any more about the strange girl, instead giving out irritated grunts when the girls of his class went back to playfully shoving him.   
  
The day after that, Fakir had a flat look on his face when the other kids told him that once again, they were going to be playing Duck Duck Goose. He grumbled in irritation, curling his knees under his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs as once again he sat stubbornly within the circle, glaring at nothing in particular.   
  
It was the same boring deal as the day before. Only this time, his attention was once again caught by the redheaded girl sitting across, just a little bit closer this time. He blinked, observing as she went through almost the exact same motions as yesterday.  
  
Perking up when the child drew nearer, expression falling almost comically as she was skipped over.   
  
Did she really just want to run around like an idiot that badly?   
  
The day after that, Fakir didn't even join in on the game. When they said they were repeating the exact same routine, he simply walked away with a childish stomp in his step, wandering over behind the activity shed to sit and sulk in the hopes that none of the bothersome teachers would find him and tell him to go out and socialize.   
  
He didn't care. He didn't care about that stupid game or that stupid girl that wanted to be picked as a goose for some stupid reason when she'd probably just trip all over herself anyway.   
  
Somehow, he'd managed not to get caught. And so for the day after, he repeated his actions and hid within his own thoughts during free period. It was peaceful, definitely much more desirable than listening to a bunch of screaming peers.   
  
For the next week, he ignored his classmates during recess. No one ever talked to him anyway, seeing as how he never had much to say in the first place. The only ones who ever really paid attention to him were the girls, and they were more annoying than anything with all the pushing and shoving they did for  _no reason at all_.   
  
The back of the shed was his own spot, where he didn't have to succumb to stupid games and barking teachers.   
  
At least, it was, for a while.   
  
That all ended the day he strode up to his secret spot and was suddenly greeted with a little ball of a girl curled up at the edge of the wall.   
  
Fakir took a step back, a scowl already settling on his face.  Who was this person, and why were they intruding here? This was HIS space! " _Hey_."   
  
Shifting, the girl lifted her head up, wiping stubbornly at the side of her face with a blue sleeve. She blinked, frowning that someone was interrupting her chosen activity for recess. "Whaaat…"  
  
Making an annoyed noise at the back of his throat, Fakir only barely noticed that it was that same redheaded girl he watched several times while playing games with his classmates. And for a moment, he allowed himself to actually wonder what she could have possibly been doing  _here_  instead of sitting at the edge of a circle with the rest of the kids. But he quickly shoved that thought away, instead going back to being perturbed at her presence.   
  
"This is  _my_  spot and no one else is allowed here."   
  
Immediately the girl looked up at him with her eyebrows pursed. Her lips curled into a frown, and she gave her most defensive glare. "S-says who? And I was only sitting here for a little bit!"  
  
Fakir scowled, crossing his arms and grounding his feet in determination. "That doesn't matter, 'cause it's still my spot and you can't stay here. So move."  
  
Those words weren't taken well by her at all, and she pouted right back at him while wriggling her hips against the ground as if to glue herself to the very dirt. She crossed her arms in mockery and said in a very stern voice, " **No**."   
  
Fakir's eyebrow twitched. Who the hell made it okay for her to just invade his secret spot like that? It was the only time of the day he had to himself! No annoying classmates and stupid games. Even the teachers didn't know where he went during recess. He wasn't about to have some girl come in and take over his only hour of peace.   
  
So he uncrossed his arms, fists balling at his sides. And suddenly he shot forward, grabbing at the redhead's shoulders and tried to force her to stand up and get out.  
  
But the girl only jerked back with a shout. "Hey! Let go of me!" Scampering on her knees and legs, she retaliated with an angry shove to his chest. But the most she elicited was a quiet grunt, so she shoved again. Fakir only pushed right back, until the duo were reduced to nothing more than two kids shoving blindly at one another with insults flown into the air.   
  
At least, until Fakir finally had her pinned to the ground, hands gripping at her shoulders and teeth seething. The girl glared back up at him, strands of hair flying free from her braid and dirt smudging her cheeks. Her lower lip quivered through the fierce scowl she sent him, eyes rapidly blinking as if to hide away unshed tears.   
  
Fakir honestly expected her to break out crying and run off to a teacher to rat him out. Never mind the fact that he had rather roughly shoved her into the ground in the first place, but really, she was the one who started it! But she did nothing of the sort. She only glared at him with daggers in her eyes.   
  
"… _Jerk_ ," she spat. And quite literally, leaning her head up and giving an indignant  _pt-ooh!_  to the side of his face.   
  
Fakir automatically flinched, drawing back and furiously wiping his cheek with a sleeve in disgust. "Eugh!" He grimaced, and was hesitant to admit that her maneuver caught him off guard. Girls didn't spit. They sat around wearing dresses, they giggled, and they pushed him.   
  
Taking advantage of his lapse in defense, the girl automatically reached up to push his face away with a spread hand, pursing his cheek almost comically to the side. "All I wanted was to  _sit_  here!" she shouted, the collected tears streaking down her eyes.   
  
Fakir got off of her, rubbing at the spot she spat at and subsequently shoved. "Why don't you go back to the stupid  _game?_  You're the only one who ever looked like you wanted to play it anyway!" …Okay, so that gave away the fact that he had actually been paying attention to her, but it slipped out on its own.   
  
Which, thankfully, the redheaded girl didn't seem to notice. In fact, upon mention of the 'game' he referred, to, she only sat herself back up and began dusting the dirt of her skirt, her expression melting into one more somber and shy. She looked away while jutting her bottom lip out, the pout heard clearly in her voice. "… **No**. 'M always a duck."   
  
Fakir gave her a flat look. "Stupid. Just keep sitting and someone will eventually let you run around like an idiot so you can trip all over yourself."  
  
Making herself comfortable against the wall of the shed again and curling her knees against her chin, she gave him a huff. "I don't  _care_  about running; I'm just tired of being a duck! Duck, duck, always a duck, I'm just a  _duck!_ "   
  
"How the hell does that even make  _sense?!_ " Fakir blurted, uncaring of the fact that he used a 'bad-word' when talking to a peer. "It's just a stupid game."   
  
"It's not just in the game, you meanie! Everyone always calls me a duck! They say I look like one and act like one. Sometimes they don't even call me Ahiru, they just call me  _Duck_. And I HATE it!" she practically cried out the last part, baring her teeth as if to say that there was no way she was ever moving from that 'special spot' of his now.   
  
The boy could only stand there, watching as she threw her head forward to bury itself against her knees.   
  
"…Tired of always being a duck," she mumbled, the words muffled against her skirt. "…Just wanna be something else. Anything else." It seemed as though she had stopped talking directly to Fakir and simply reverted to musing to herself.   
  
Fakir gave an exasperated sigh. For the moment, it seemed as though the girl really was refusing to leave, and he didn't want to get into any more scuffles or else they'd really get the teacher's attention and they'd  _both_  be in trouble.   
  
So, defeated but stubborn enough not to show it, Fakir moved over and plopped himself down on the ground next to her, knocking his back against the shed's wall. "You're not a duck, you're a person, so stop being a stupid idiot." Really, it was ridiculous how she actually listened to people like that. Fakir always ignored whenever someone called his hair poofy.   
  
They sat in silence for several long moments, and Fakir was convinced that either the girl didn't hear him or she wasn't taking any of his words into consideration. Whatever. As long as she was quiet.   
  
Fakir refused to move, at any rate. This was still his special hide-out, after all. He wasn't about to let a girl just drive him out of it.   
  
But once the bell chimed off in the distance and signaled every child to come back to their classes, the girl lifted her head up from her curled position, still wiping away the lingering dampness on her cheeks. "Y…you don't think I'm like a duck?"  
  
"I think you're stupid because you wait around to be pat on the head and called a goose."  
  
She shot him a flat look. "And I think you're a big jerk that shouldn't get so mad just 'cause I'm sitting here."  
  
Fakir didn't respond. Really, why did she insist on talking to him? He stopped pushing her to the ground already. But then again, she was the type of girl that played Duck Duck Goose just to be called a goose, not even just to run around aimlessly.   
  
The girl stood up from the ground before he did, hands wiping off on her dirtied skirt. She blinked down at him, and Fakir found it somewhere in himself to look back at her with an unreadable expression.   
  
"I'm coming back here tomorrow, y'know," she said, her foot idly playing with the grass on the ground.   
  
Was she expecting him to object or something? Fakir frankly didn't care. If she got on his nerves again and complained about being a duck some more, then he would just shove at her again.   
  
He sighed. "You're not a duck, so stop believing you are just because others call you that. It's still stupid."  
  
"Mm. I know." The little redhead dropped her gaze, before bringing it back up. Suddenly she had a soft smile on her face. "No one's told me that. So thanks."   
  
Before Fakir could give any reply though, she had already begun scampering off to the other side of the field, meeting with her teachers. Fakir didn't watch her leave; instead choosing to continue to sit in his little spot for as long as possible before anyone came searching for him.   
  
Kicking at a pebble on the ground, he leaned his head back against the wooden wall.   
She said she was coming back tomorrow? Ugh. Annoying.  
  
…  
  
…Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.


	3. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2011: Fight.

Sometimes he still dreams about reverting back to the way he was before locking his sword away. A cowardly man, shooting venomous words at his crow-like classmate and putting his only friend through cruel abuse. Fakir hates those dreams. He hates the constant reminder. And he hates the image of Ahiru's frightened face as he clenches against her wrists. And, for some reason, his mind thought it appropriate to plague him with pictures of himself attacking that very girl the most.   
  
Slamming her against the wall and spitting out that she knows nothing… shooting her a glare that makes her legs give out from under her… holding her arms behind her back as he goads Mytho into shattering his own heart out right in front of her…  
  
It's when he sees himself darting forward and striking a shard of glass to her throat that Fakir can't take it anymore.   
  
Jerking to sit straight up in his bed, sweat dotting the brow of his forehead, Fakir grits his teeth as he slowly comes back down to earth. He can hear her little snores, the soft sounds that always accompany his bedside, and he breathes slowly while running a hand through his hair.   
  
No. He's different now. He would never hurt Ahiru again like that. So  _why_  do his dreams persist in  _reminding_  him? Of the fear in her eyes as she looked at him?   
  
Frustrated, he leans over to scoop up the sleeping duck right into his arms, apologizing softly when she wakes up abruptly and begins to squirm around everywhere in confusion. He holds fast to her, feeling the softness of her feathers against his hands.   
  
Yes, they were once enemies. Yes, they fought each other. Yes, he still hates himself for the way he hurt her.   
  
But when the little duck settles in his arms, still unsure of the reason why he so suddenly grabbed at her, Fakir has to close his eyes and breathe. Just breathe, and hear her quietly quack in askance. He says nothing in response, just needing to embrace the little duck that changed him so much.   
  
Eventually he can hear her soft snores again, drifting off to sleep right in his arms. He looks down at the duck in slumber, the little feather at the top of her head rising up and down with the rhythm of her deep breaths.   
  
It's the feel of her comfort and her trusting him so that reassures Fakir. She doesn't think about that past self of his anymore. She doesn't hate him. She doesn't even have any qualms about lowering her defenses so much and fall asleep in his hold.   
  
It consoles him more than he can ever say, and so he slowly lies back down on the bed, closing his eyes. He keeps Ahiru in the crook of his arms as they sleep.


	4. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2011: Warmth. Contains Character Death.

It's one of the things he misses most when it's time to say goodbye. The soft little weight on his shoulder reading over the words on his lap, the tiny beat of her heart against his palm as he holds her, the embracing lightness he feels whenever she tries to wrap her wings around him, eventually settling for just his upper arm.   
  
The day her warmth leaves is the day he dies, tearing every single story he wrote down the middle and snapping every quill in half before flinging them out the window and over the lake. There's no more use for them, and he couldn't give any less of a damn even if there was.  
  
By the tree where he first opened himself to her. That's where she will always be.  
  
Charon carves out an epitaph against the tree as Fakir stands behind, watching. The ink stained fingers of his right hand twitches, still feeling the tingle of the scar from years ago. There should be a weight on his shoulder, a radiating warmth tickling his cheeks, but it is gone.  
  
 _It's cold here_ , he says to himself several months later while leaning back against the bark.  _It's cold_.   
  
 _But no, there is no such thing as cold. Only a lack of heat._  
  
He sulks, crossing his arms and glaring at nothing in particular in the distance. It's winter, and the ducks fly overhead, quacking as they move south.   
  
How disgustingly appropriate.


	5. Feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2011: Feathers.

He traced cursive loops over her shoulders, into her skin. They were intricate webs of ink, and on a canvas much more unorthodox than simple parchment.   
  
It wasn't something they did often, but Ahiru always felt that it somehow brought them closer together. The young woman lay over her stomach on the bed, bare and humming contently to herself as he loomed over her back. The quill wasn't sharp, but she could still feel every word, not that she could ever hope to decipher them.   
  
Idly kicking her feet against the air behind them, she turned to Fakir, smiling. "What kind of story are you writing this time?"   
  
He leaned back away from her to sigh. "I'll read it to you when I'm done." He had only written several lines across her shoulders and neck so far, but he aimed to have her back decorated in words by that afternoon.   
  
Ahiru puffed her cheeks out in response. "Fiiiine." But she still couldn't resist the impulse to twist her neck around and try to read a few sentences.   
  
Which Fakir quickly caught on to, reaching over to bop her on the head. "Don't move around like that or I'll mess up."   
  
"But I wanna read!"  
  
"You'll read  _later_ ," he said, lifting the quill from her back. "If you keep moving around, you'll just end up with blotches of ink on your back. So try staying  _still_  for a while, you moron."  
  
Ahiru huffed indignantly. "I am  _not_. I'm just curious!"  
  
Fakir closed his eyes, the first hints of annoyance rubbing into his features. Instead of responding, he decided to flip the quill over and hover it over the back of her neck, lightly touching the skin.   
  
The reaction was instantaneous.   
  
"A-wa-wa—?!" With a sharp jolt, the redhead practically jumped into the air, bouncing back down to the mattress with her cheeks glowing and eyes wide. Frantic, she whipped her head around to face him. "What was that for?!"  
  
Fakir could only idly hold the quill in his fingers, blinking slowly.   
  
She flushed some more, the redness deepening with each awkward second. "W-What?"  
  
"… For someone that used to be covered in feathers, you sure are  _sensitive_  to them," Fakir mused, an eyebrow raising slightly in consideration.   
  
Giving him a look, Ahiru shot back, "What—what's that supposed to mean? I wasn't expecting you to do anything like that, so—!"  
  
But she was swiftly interrupted with the stroke of a feather down her back, trailing down the entire length of her spine.   
  
"A-WA-WA— _QUA_ —?!" This time, she managed to completely fall off the side of the bed, arms waving about everywhere and landing on the hardwood floor with a loud  _thud_.  
  
… It was one of the rare times Fakir didn't mind Ahiru getting the ink of his story smudged all over her back.


	6. Inspiration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2011: Inspiration. Takes place several years post-series.

The journalist shifted in the wooden chair, eyes skimming distrustfully over his surroundings. When his supervisor called saying that they managed to get a rare interview with the infamous author sitting before him, the man had assumed that it would have taken place… well, in an actual  _building_.   
  
But then again, Mr. Fakir was always notorious for being a freak recluse, no matter how good his writing was. He simply refused to leave the lake. The journalist huffed silently; that was probably the only reason he was famous in the first place. Everyone liked reading about abnormal people.   
  
And Fakir certainly fit the definition of abnormal. The journalist eyed him from over his notebook, taking in the scruffy appearance of the man. Clothes looking like they needed to be washed, hair bound in a messy ponytail and beginning to gray out in several areas, hands callused with old scars and years worth of words… Considering he was rarely seen even outside of the lake, an article about meeting with him would definitely sell.   
  
"Thank you for your time today," the journalist began politely, crossing his legs to rest his notepad and quill over. "I'm sure you're a very… busy man." Busy doing god knows what in this isolated area.   
  
The author sitting across from him said nothing, obviously waiting for the massive amount of annoying questions to begin. It was clear he wasn't amused with the company, even if he agreed to it in the first place.   
  
Resting the quill tip against his notebook, the journalist began, "Well then, let's get started. How long would you say it takes for you to complete a story, on average?"  
  
He watched as Fakir seemed to think for a moment. "Depends on the story," was his answer.  
  
Oh joy, the other man could already tell this was going to be just one big pain. "I mean, if you could estimate on an amount of time. On average."  
  
"Like I said before, it depends on the story."  
  
"—So about a week, then," the journalist said with a twitch in his eyebrow, scribbling the corresponding words to the paper in his lap. Whether or not Fakir took any offense to the gesture, he did not check. "Now, how about characters? Would you tell me about them?"  
  
"What  _about_  them," the writer asked gruffly, crossing his arms and looking clearly displeased that he allowed such a meeting to take place.   
  
The journalist could only close his eyes and sigh—clearly, this was not going to be a simple questions-and-answer arrangement.   
  
And several minutes later, nothing had changed. The interviewer practically had to force any sort of real response out of Fakir. They were all too vague, or showed that he really wasn't interested in his own works. Better that than to be subjected to the ramblings of a  _narcissist_ , the man supposed, but it wasn't making his damn job any easier.   
  
When he was given a 'no preference' upon asking what his favorite inks and quills to use, the journalist finally had it. He threw his hands into the air and cried, "Well then, is there  _anything_  you can give me an actual answer to?!"  
  
The outburst was far from professional, but Fakir didn't show any shock or annoyance. Instead, all he did was close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "I suppose  _not_ ," he said, beginning to show the hint of impatience his company already expressed.   
  
"Really," the other man mused, leaning back in his chair with a creak. "So you can't say what you like writing with. You can't say what you like writing  _about_. Is there anything you  _can_  say?"  
  
Fakir replied coolly. "Do you have any questions that aren't absurdly vague?"  
  
The journalist looked down at his notebook with a sheet full of questions that had already been crossed out. "Where is your favorite place to write?"  
  
"Anywhere."  
  
"Do you have a personal favorite work of yours?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you have a personal favorite work of  _someone else_?"  
  
"No."  
  
"All right, then," the man practically grit through his teeth, realizing that he had reached the end of the long list of pre-written questions. His mind rapidly searched for questions of his own, until he looked up to Fakir, his hands thrown to the air in exasperation. "Something that's not vague? Then tell me why you always have a  _duck_  in your stories."  
  
For once, Fakir didn't respond readily.   
  
In fact, he blinked, meeting the journalist's glare with an expression that almost looked intrigued.   
  
The man lifted an eyebrow. It was a much different reaction than the previous drawling responses. "… What?"  
  
"Nothing," Fakir responded, lifting a hand to touch along his chin. "It's just that no one has ever noticed before."   
  
That was something that caught the interviewer off guard. Leaning forward, he immediately readied his quill to the bound notebook again. It was finally something different than a gruff answer at the very least. And he was legitimately surprised. His previous aggravated tone immediately went away. "… So you say? But they're everywhere. A major character, a pet, a description of one being in the  _background_ …"  
  
"No one has ever brought it up before."  
  
And suddenly it felt like the journalist was actually going to have some interest material for his article. Really, it was a stupid thing to notice when he was going through all of the author's works, but he did. Sometimes it was just blink-and-you'll-miss-it, but without fail—in every single published book, there was a duck.   
  
"Could you explain this to me?" he asked, already jotting down the notes.   
  
When Fakir didn't respond, the other man had to give a sharp exhale. It looked like a breakthrough, and he was going back to being silent?! But when he looked up, he found that the man's focus wasn't entirely on him anymore, instead his eyes trailing off to the water of the lake.   
  
Following his line of sight, the journalist turned over in his seat and twisted his head to squint out over the water. For the most part, aside from the worn-down cottage all the way across from them, it looked to be completely isolated.   
  
Except for a small white dot far off in the corner. The journalist almost didn't notice it at first, until he noticed it moving and stretching out its wings. It appeared to be the very species of animal he continually found in Fakir's works.   
  
Without turning back, he asked, "Are they your muses?" It wasn't an unheard of concept with the creative arts. Although he couldn't say he had heard of someone using such a strange animal as a  _duck_  for inspiration.   
  
He heard the creaking of woodwork as Fakir leaned back in his seat across from him. After several seconds, he apprehensively responded.  
  
"… I suppose you could say that."  
  
And for some reason, that time the interviewer didn't grow irritated over his vague answer.


	7. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final piece for Fakiru Week 2011: Love. Takes place post-series where Ahiru has been a girl again for a while.

The pond was quiet as they sat with each other, her back leaning against his chest and his arms wrapped around her. His chin rest over her shoulder, dark hair tickling her cheek. Ahiru smiled to herself as she observed the setting around them, feeling his breath fan quietly over her skin.   
  
It was a calm atmosphere, with subtle crickets chirping in the distance and lightning bugs illuminating the air around them with soft flickers. The water of the pond rippled slightly, and the breeze shifted the leaves and branches of the tree above them. It was definitely nice, and Ahiru enjoyed the private time with Fakir.   
  
Feeling his cheek against her own, the girl turned slightly to look at him. Her expression was not one of sadness, but it was certainly serene. "Fakir…"  
  
He slowly opened his eyes, seeing himself reflected in her blue color. He felt her fingers idly toying with his own crossed over her stomach as he patiently waited for her to continue.   
  
"Fakir, I want to say it."   
  
For a moment he said nothing, keeping her gaze before dropping it and reclosing his eyes. He already knew exactly what she was referring to. "Don't."  
  
It wasn't as if the response surprised her, but she still wished he wouldn't say it like that. She weakly gave a small puff of her cheeks, jutting the bottom lip out. "But it's different—you know it is, so…"  
  
" _Don't_ ," he repeated, burying his face into her hair and slightly constricting his arms around her. "His story was too vague.  _My_  story was too vague. We don't know if it still applies to you." After another moment of thinking, he exhaled against her skin. "… Besides. I already know."   
  
Ahiru's gaze fell to their hands, making a quiet displeased noise from the back of her throat. Sure, he knew, but that didn't mean she liked just being silent about it…  
  
Eventually they relaxed again, enjoying the tranquil scenery. It was rare for them to be able to have the free time to just… enjoy each other's presence like this. She listened to the sound of his breathing, and closed her eyes to the rhythm, a small smile on her face.  
  
After several minutes of being encompassed by the nightlife, Ahiru lowered her head with her bangs obscuring her vision, and whispered quietly.   
  
"I love you."  
  
Immediately she heard him draw a sharp intake of breath and suddenly clamp his arms tightly around her, shifting in his seat and holding her as if she was about to disappear. Which, in truth, was his initial thought. He held tightly to the girl, refusing to budge and teeth clenching together in the still atmosphere. His heart was the only thing moving erratically.   
  
… And after a tense moment Fakir lifted his head, face flaming in a bright red. "You  _moron_ ," he hissed, "what would have happened if you—?"  
  
"But nothing did," she said, beaming. "See?" She lifted a hand up to touch along his shoulder, tracing the folds of his worn-down vest. And it was true. She wasn't gone from his embrace.   
  
Fakir only frowned though, looking rather silly with the blush still stubbornly clinging to his cheeks. "… I never wanted to take that  _chance_ ," he admitted sheepishly, averting his eyes. And then he shifted back to relax against the tree again, taking her with him and blowing a sigh through her cowlick. "It wasn't as if I didn't already know, anyway…"  
  
Ahiru nuzzled to him, giggling. "I know." Reaching out to try and touch a lightning bug, she turned to him on the good note of a grin. "But it still feels really, really good to say it out loud. Now I know how you feel when you say it to me, so…."  
  
"Idiot," he called her, lifting a hand to enclose it around a drifting lightning bug and drawing it close to show her. He allowed a smile to pass through at her marveling the little creature, the relief finally washing over his shoulders at the fact that she really wasn't about to turn into a speck of light.  
  
… And it would have been a lie to say that hearing her say those words wasn't the most beautiful sound in the world.


	8. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First piece for Fakiru Week 2012: Red!

She's curled in a ball on the floor of Charon's house, naked. Long hair flows over her back, unbraided, as she cradles a small something delicately in her hands. She almost doesn't want to move, as if it'll break with the slightest jolt. It would make sense for her to be just as clumsy as she used to be, after all.  
  
Fakir stands before her, listening to the sounds of her deep breathing. One hand grips his chest; the other drops an ink-stained quill from his loose fingers. His lips part, then close.   
  
Finally, he crouches down and pulls off his jacket to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her up to sit over legs tucked underneath her.   
  
All Ahiru can do is gape at him.   
  
He keeps his expression level, buttoning up the front until she's decent. He keeps his eyes away from the small object cupped in her palms.   
  
"F-Fa…" she begins. Her fingers close over the item. "Fakir! What did—how— _why_ —?"  
  
"Finish your sentences, moron," he mumbles, the tone fond as his lips lift into a small smile.   
  
"This…" Her eyes fall. Then, her eyebrows curl downward and her lips pout. She shoots a look up at him. "Why, Fakir?! How did you do—do  _this_?" And with that, she all but shoves her hands in his face and holds her fingers out, revealing the small blood red gem glittering brightly in her palms.   
  
Fakir remains silent for a moment.   
  
"… I wrote."   
  
Ahiru swallows the lump forming in her throat. Hands trembling, she speaks up again. "What is it?"  
  
"A heart shard," he answers simply.  
  
"I—I know that!" she snaps back, frowning. "I mean— _what_  is it? And where did you get this?!"  
  
A sigh is released into the air as Fakir places his hands on her shoulders. "… It's mine."  
  
Ahiru pales.   
  
She doesn't know how to take it in, and it shows. Her eyes waver, her lips are parted, and it feels like the world has stopped.   
  
Then, she begins shaking her head back and forth, tears forming in her eyes. What has started off as shock quickly turns into panic. "Now—now YOU'RE the moron, Fakir! Why would you do that?! It's important to have all of your heart, isn't it?! What would have happened if you completely shattered it or—?"  
  
"Calm  _down_ , idiot." His fingers tense in their places on her shoulders. "Nothing of the sort happened." His voice calms, the tone low and almost soothing. "I gave it to you of my own free will. So just take it, Ahiru."  
  
The use of her name, instead of his usual nickname, is prevalent. Ahiru still looks unsure of herself, her glance dropping back down to the small gem in her hands. Her lip trembles.  
  
"Wh-what…" she begins, "… what feeling is it?"   
  
What feeling did Fakir permanently sacrifice in order to give Ahiru back her humanity?  
  
Fakir closes his eyes for a moment, before he wraps his arms more fully around her body to pick her up off the ground. Giving a small noise, Ahiru instinctively reaches up to grab around his shoulder with one hand, wrapping it around his neck while the other protectively clutches the shard of his heart to her chest.   
  
"Loneliness," he answers. His eyes fall to meet hers, his expression much more soft than it had been in months.   
  
And with that, he keeps her held close to him while he begins making his way up to the spare guest bedroom, aiming to go search out for Raetsel's old clothes.   
  
"I've no need for such an emotion any longer."


	9. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2012: Silence.

"Men speak with their actions, not with their words."   
  
It was a phrase Ahiru heard many times during her adolescence. Her friends would giggle and share stories of how a boy would never outright proclaim his thoughts and feelings. If someone was hungry, he would share his food. If someone didn't understand their homework, he would offer help. If someone tripped, he would pick them up. That, they told her, was how one could tell when a boy liked someone.   
  
Ahiru never needed that to be explained to her.   
  
In fact, she could perfectly understand it all on her own.   
  
It was ingrained in the memory of her muscles, her love bursting forth through the tips of her toes, the sway of her arms, the arch of her legs. ' _I love you_ ,' she had once said with her body as she gracefully danced over the ice of the lake. ' _I love you_.'  
  
Ballet in itself was the art of communicating without words. Odette spoke of her plight to Siegfried purely through dance and motions. Berthe warned her daughter, Giselle, about the Wilis through the same method. Words were never needed in ballet. Only pure raw feelings, as well as passion.  
  
Fakir was the same.   
  
When they danced together, Ahiru could tell. She could see it in his green eyes, feel it in his touch, sense it in his very air. He had volumes upon volumes of things to say to her, so much that it might take years to convey it all.    
  
And yet in that moment, all he needed to do was take a step back, raise his arms, and cup his hands gently over his heart.   
  
It was always enough to make her own flutter in her chest, a beam spreading out over her lips. She did not need to hear explicit words and open statements from him in order to know his feelings.  
  
And neither did Fakir. The spread of her arms and the subsequent crash of her body into his was always enough.


	10. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2012: Dreams.

Her legs were dipped in the cool water, idly swishing as she leaned back on her arms and bathed in the sun above. He sat on the chair next to her, quill scratching away on his parchment.   
  
With a hum, Ahiru glanced up at the sky, the white of the clouds bringing a smile to her face. The way they formed almost looked like a head, even one belonging to a specific someone.  
  
"You know," she began, "it's almost strange. I don't remember anything from before I was turned into a girl, so all I knew back then was that I wanted to help Mytho and see his smile." A pause hung in the air for a moment. "It was my dream."  
  
At that point, Fakir had stopped writing, letting his quill drop to lie across the paper while he waited for the ink to dry. He listened attentively to her words, and then turned to look at her when she quieted.   
  
"And you accomplished it," he stated.   
  
"Mm."  
  
"Not many people can say that."   
  
"… I know." Bringing up her legs from the water, Ahiru drew them to her chest and wrapped her arms around them in a hold, leaning her chin on her knees. Fakir was right. Not many people could say they've achieved their dreams.   
  
But…  
  
They've done so much  _more_  than that, in the end. The both of them. Things had changed, but Ahiru never stopped having a goal in front of her to pursue, back then.  
  
"It's just… weird. To not have a dream anymore. It feels kinda final, like I can't do anything anymore."  
  
Fakir closed his eyes. "You shouldn't judge your life's value based on whether you have a dream or not. That's just stupid."   
  
Ahiru pursed her lips out. "I—I know that! But still!"  
  
"What about ballet?" he offered.  
  
She quieted in response. "Mm…."  
  
Ahiru spent the next few minutes silent, mulling over it. She did want to become a prima ballerina still, especially when she was human again. But at the same time, it still felt like a different category of 'dream' than something like helping a prince and releasing the town from its shackles. It made perfect sense in her head! Those were two completely different types of dreams!  
  
After a while, she turned to Fakir. "What about you? What do you think, after…"   
  
How did he feel now that he, too, accomplished his goal of protecting those he wished to?  
  
Fakir leaned back in his chair, answering with a shrug, "I have a different dream, now."  
  
That caught Ahiru off guard. She blinked at him.  
  
"You do?"  
  
"I do."  
  
She couldn't help but feel curious. She scooted closer to him, attention rapt. "What is it?"  
  
Fakir gave her a level look, before picking his quill back up and returning to his writing. "I don't see how that's your business."   
  
Her mouth dropped open and then closed, her lips pursing out. "Eh? Come on, Fakir, you can tell me!"  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
A bit irked, Ahiru threw her head back, groaning to the sky. "Jerrrrrrrrrrk."   
  
Trying not to roll his eyes in response, Fakir sighed and pressed the tip of the quill to the paper. "Idiot."  
  
And then he paused, considering with a glance to the side. "Maybe I'll tell you someday," he said, his words much more quiet than usual.   
  
That caught her attention back then, and she looked at him with a wide smile. "Really? You promise?"  
  
"… I promise."


	11. Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2012: Gift. I recently saw a doujinshi scan that featured Fakir wearing a ring and Ahiru as a duck with a ring looped in a necklace around her neck. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but just seeing it kind of made my year.

In the years after Goldkrone's story finally finished, it had become a regular scene for passersby to come across a man writing at the lake's dock. It was completely unintentional, but Fakir gained a small infamous popularity of his own, just by doing what he wanted to do.  
  
It was something Ahiru had taken notice of, as well. In fact, most peaceful days never went by without someone coming to visit. The duck rather liked the guests—to see people living happily without being controlled by Drosselmeyer's story was a blessing. But sometimes it was easy to tell when they were bothering Fakir. People asked questions a lot—what he was writing about, what was special about the lake, did he ever plan on taking up ballet again—and eventually he would simply recede into a cool silence, his quill scratching across the paper while ignoring anything else the guest had to say.   
  
There were a lot of women, too. A lot of them.   
  
And strangely enough, they were the ones Fakir seemed to be annoyed with the most. They never came in groups; he was always approached by them in singles. Ahiru couldn't overhear their conversations well, but they were always short and ended with the woman walking away, her face more downcast than when she first approached him. Ahiru wondered if Fakir was purposefully being mean to them, which made her a little put out with him sometimes. He was a human, so he should spend more time with humans!   
  
Not that Ahiru could say the same for herself, in all honesty. She did make friends with the flock of waterfowl that made their home at the lake some months past, but the day always ended with her bobbing along at the dock, quacking contentedly. She just felt inexplicably happier that way.  
  
One day, Fakir showed up at the lake with a silver ring on his finger.  
  
Ahiru sat on the armrest of the chair, blinking at it, before glancing up to him. She never thought Fakir would be the type of person to wear jewelry.   
  
But when he noticed her questioning look, he gave a shrug. He went on to explain that he just got tired of being asked to go out with women, so he made it at the smith to throw them off from now on.   
  
Ahiru wasn't ignorant of the ring's implication. To point to that specific finger was the mime for marriage, after all.  
  
And it worked, amazingly enough. There was a significant difference in the number of single women who visited him, instead replaced by people purely interested in his writing. When someone glanced at the ring on his finger, they assumed he was taken.   
  
But he wasn't. Not in actuality.   
  
That didn't stop the rumors from flying about, though Ahiru never caught on to them.   
  
In fact, she almost wondered if there was an equivalent to her as a duck. Once she grew in her white feathers and spring arrived, the atmosphere around the lake changed. Her fellow waterfowl settled and started their own families, small lines of ducklings following after them.   
  
Ahiru… wasn't ready for that yet.   
  
But upon the frightening day she had to fight off a drake in the middle of the lake, she knew that she wanted something that would also deter other ducks from approaching her. She didn't want ducklings yet or to stay with a drake. Ahiru felt perfectly content with just staying with Fakir. And he had his own way of saying he wasn't available, right? Couldn't Ahiru have something like that, as well?  
  
That question was answered a few days later when he showed up to the lake, something hidden in his fist. He, too, had witnessed Ahiru's problem and could decipher her concerns whenever she glanced at his own ring.   
  
She waddled up to him and Fakir held out his hand, revealing a matching silver ring. He went on to explain that she could use it as she wished—but he wouldn't give her something like a collar. That made her below him, when she was every bit his equal. So he made the ring in the smith, just like he did his own. They were a matching pair, although he did not quite use those words, the light tinge of red dotting across his cheeks preventing him from pointing it out.   
  
If ducks could smile, she would have given him the brightest beam. But he could see it in her eyes.   
  
She had her ring looped through a small necklace and wore it around her neck, in the place her pendant used to be. And from then on, she was never approached by an unwelcome bystander, just as the same went for Fakir. Their rings signified that they belonged to someone already.  
  
And this is the story of how Fakir got married to a duck.


	12. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2012: Light

Ahiru sat at the windowsill in her cotton nightgown, her legs tucked up to her chest and hugging her yellow duck pillow close to her heart.   
  
Reading didn't do any good. And all of her bird friends were long past asleep already. The only thing she could do to pass the time was wait and watch, the snow falling softly outside the window. Her small breaths fogged up the glass as she leaned the side of her head on it, blue eyes sleepy and half-lidded.   
  
She didn't want to fall asleep before he came home… she wanted to be awake to greet him. Fakir would have done the same for her. He definitely would have…  
  
And yet, as the minutes ticked by, Ahiru slowly found herself nodding off, eyes drooping shut and head leaning down to her pillow.   
  
Sitting on a hard surface was not the best position to sleep in, but she managed to doze that way for a while. It was impossible to tell what time it was when she finally woke up. But what managed to finally draw her out of slumber was the abrupt flickering of the light, the room suddenly sent into darkness.   
  
Ahiru blearily opened her eyes, unfocused. But once she felt a pair of strong arms slide underneath and pull her up, a lazy smile drew forth on her face. Once he tugged her up to his chest, Ahiru didn't hesitate to wrap her own arms around his neck, clinging. Still half-asleep, she leaned up to press her lips fully to his.   
  
Fakir made a low hum into the kiss, pulling back to softly call her a moron. And with that, he carried her over to their bed, gently settling her in before tugging up the covers over her. She couldn't see what he was doing through the darkness of their room, but a few minutes later he joined her, his weight pressing down on the mattress.   
  
Instinctively, she scooted closer to him, pressing her body up against his. "'M missed you," she mumbled sleepily, nuzzling to his arm.   
  
He drew her close, smiling into her hair.


	13. Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2012: Play. I'm noooooot really fond of this one anymore, but I'll post it here anyway for completion's sake. Implies spanking.

"Do it."  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, come onnnnn! Why not?"  
  
"It's completely ridiculous."  
  
"No, it's not! Lots of—lots of people do this!"  
  
"Oh, really? Like whom."  
  
"Well… well I mean, Lilie said that—"  
  
"I don't trust anything that woman says."  
  
"Wha—?"  
  
"…Hm?"  
  
"Y-You—! Not just her! A lot of people say it feels good! Come on; can we at least just try it out? QU—!"  
  
"Your face will freeze if you keep pouting like that."  
  
"L-Leggo! An' no!"  
  
"Then get off my lap, moron."  
  
"Nu-uh! I'm really curious!"  
  
"…"  
  
"…"  
  
"Stop—stop  _squirming_ , damn it!"  
  
"Only if we try it out. Just once!"  
  
"I said no, already."  
  
"I'll get off after you do it!"  
  
" _No_."  
  
"Then I'm not moving!"  
  
"You're making an idiot out of yourself."  
  
"Well you're being a big jerk about it and it only makes me not wanna move or anything even more, so—so there!"  
  
" _Move_."  
  
"Nu-uh!"  
  
 _SMACK_.  
  
"HWAUH—!"  
  
"…"  
  
"Y-You—!"  
  
"…Well?"  
  
"F—Fakir, that was too hard! That was—!"  
  
"I did what you wanted so badly."  
  
"You weren't supposed to hit so hard!"  
  
"If you can't handle  _that_  much, then you might as well give up on it."  
  
"…"  
  
"…"  
  
"…QU—!"  
  
"Your face will freeze if you keep pouting like that."


	14. Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2012: Forever. I originally didn't post anything for Forever and wrote this one some months after the week ended, but when I looked back I realized it fit really well into the theme, so I'm including it here.

He finds her by the window of their large practice room, doing what she can to repeat those old warm up exercises that have been long since abandoned. Her body isn't what it used to be. Her hands are small and fragile, appearing to be mere wrinkled skin over frail bones. They quiver as she balances herself on the barre. Her posture has been kind to her over the years, but he can see the very first hints of her back hunching over. He watches her stretch her feet out—slowly, carefully, lacking the vigor she had in her youth. Her feet are dressed in ballet slippers, for no longer can she hope to wear pointe shoes. The last pair she ever worn has been tied together and hung over a nail above her vanity. She tries to hide it sometimes but he always catches the longing in her eyes whenever she spares a glance to them.

Finally he steps in the room, keeping himself balanced with a black beech wood cane as he slowly steps toward her. Reaching out, he lightly touches her shoulder and waits for her to turn. Crow's feet line her eyes and her cheeks have sunken in through her age, and he knows he is no better off when it comes to appearance. But to him, she is still beautiful. She is still the woman he fell in love with.

He coaxes her out of that room and undresses her with shaking, clumsy hands. She takes the washcloth and holds it under the faucet before offering it to him, always wanting to help whenever she can. After taking it, he bathes her carefully and slowly, as if they will both break with one wrong move.

He washes her feet, holding them reverently in his palm. It's not old age that makes them worn and abused, but the passionate hard-working life of a ballerina. Her toenails will never grow the same. The knuckles are large and well defined. The skin is rough with the wake of calluses long ago formed. He kisses them, and wraps her in a towel.

It's the middle of fall, so the curtains are drawn back to reveal the sight of sunset-colored leaves as he dresses her in her best clothes: a long blue skirt, soft white blouse, a hand-knitted sweater, and a gleaming brooch, along with the essentials such as socks and black polished shoes. He dresses himself afterward in tan slacks and a long sleeved collared shirt underneath a forest green sweater. Hand griping the handle of his cane, he leads her down the hall, the aged flooring creaking and groaning underneath their steps as they go.

Dinner waits for them when they arrive in the dining room; as a gift from one of their children, just before they left to give the two an evening for themselves. After helping her sit down, he makes his way over to the phonograph and picks out one of the oldest disks from the box. Blowing dust off the surface, he places it in and arranges the needle before turning it to run. Since their time, music has gone on to become stored in smaller and smaller disks and eventually upgrading from physical storage completely. But they've never been invested in keeping up with technology. They never wanted to.

The sound crackles slightly and the music is muffled from their deteriorating hearing, but it's enough to carry them out through their dinner. He helps her with her medicine at the end, holding the glass of water before her wrinkled lips.

All he needs is a hopeful smile, her blue eyes twinkling, to know what she's asking for when they've finished with their meal. And he obliges without a word.

He doesn't need his cane when he assists her out of her chair. She is his support.

They don't move far—they merely stand next to the phonograph. She puts a hand on his shoulder and he holds her hand, closing his eyes. She lets her tired head rest below his chin, her faded wispy hair brushing his skin. Together they sway.

It's not the eloquent pas de deux they've danced together thousands of times. His bones are brittle and muscles weak—he can't lift her when it's so hard to lift himself up nowadays. Her feet have long ago said their farewells to gliding across the floor on the tips of her toes. All they can do now is hold each other and swing with such delicacy it almost appears as though they don't even move.

But it's enough.

It's always enough.


	15. Yellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First entry in Fakiru Week 2013: Yellow!

When the winter came, Fakir took time out of his writing to weave his first basket as a welcoming gift for Ahiru as she spent the cold months inside. He could still remember the way her big blue eyes watered as he presented it to her. It wasn’t perfect, by any means—it was lopsided, and some areas were looser than others, but she loved it all the same. Ahiru showed every ounce of her gratification every night by snuggling up inside the blanketed basket, covering her head with her wing and giving light snores. He’d place the basket, sleeping duck and all, on the desk next to his bed every night before turning in for sleep.   
  
One day when Fakir was changing sheets, a small yellow feather fell out from his pillow case and fluttered to the ground.   
  
He picked it up, his brows furrowing as he turned it around by the quill between two fingers. But ultimately he put it in his pocket and forgot about it as he resumed his cleaning. Maybe Ahiru was finally starting to molt.   
  
But then it happened again, months later. Fakir lifted the quilt to get into bed and found not one, but three feathers spread out over the mattress. He glanced at Ahiru, but she was already snug in her little basket and fast asleep. Shrugging, he crawled into his own bed and slept.    
  
It continued to happen. Fakir could never find feather strung about in any other corner of the house, but every night when he went to bed he would check and there would always be at least one little yellow feather, without fail. Was Ahiru sleepwalking? That would explain why he never caught her anywhere near his bed, since he would have been asleep as well.   
One night he decided to stay up and write, not taking to the bed until it was nearly three in the morning. Ahiru hadn’t budged from her basket, and there were no feathers in his bed the next day.   
  
The next night he stayed awake in his bed, rolled over to one side. At midnight he could hear her stirring in her basket, and in the next moment she hopped out and waddled over to the edge of the desk, before jumping down and making herself right at home next to his head on the pillow. Fakir waited for her to continue her episode of sleepwalking, but she stayed right there for a few hours, snoring lightly by his ear.   
  
He waited until the next night to make a move. Just as the day before he rolled over in his bed, facing away from his desk, and waited. Just as before he heard her stirring before she got up and waddled, hopping off the desk and onto his pillow.   
  
Except this time he rolled right over to face her, an amused look on his face.  
  
“Caught you.”  
  
“QUAAAA—!”  
  
Ahiru fell off the bed.


	16. Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2013: Mistake. Character Death implied.

“Don’t you ever go near that man who lives by the lake,” the mothers began to warn their children.  
  
“Why?” they would ask.   
  
“He has gone mad,” the mothers would explain. “So be a darling and never speak to him.”  
  
The children never understood, for the man appeared of a rational mind whenever they strolled by the land around the lake. He kept to himself, always staying inside, but that didn’t speak for his sanity.   
  
They peered through his windows and the house was full of wooden dolls, all red-headed dolls.

“Ahiru!”  
  
The people in the town square all turned their heads as a full grown man raced across the streets and pulled a young girl with flaming red hair into his large arms, his eyes shining with tears. He picked her up and spun her about, telling her of how he missed her and loved her, and the poor little girl could only scream and kick until she finally wretched herself free from his grip.  
  
“I am not ‘Ahiru!’” she shouted with indignation, backing up when he stepped closer. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else, now leave me alone! I said _leave_!” she shrieked, taking her shoe and throwing it at his head.  
  
It was only then when the man finally awoke from his stupor, his overjoyed expression falling away like the leaves of a dying tree. He stepped away and quietly apologized for his mistake, before turning and running away from the town square, into the direction of the lake.  
  
The children no longer questioned their mothers.


	17. Modern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2013: Modern.

The world changed around them, but the lake always stayed the same. Buildings crumbled, new ones were built in their places. Men flew with the birds, then to the stars. Newspaper headlines spoke of war, drafts, treaties, walls being torn down. The popularity of ballet dwindled when moving pictures made it on the scene and the theater students spread their talents far and wide. Music moved from phonographs to radios. Still the lake never changed.  
  
His body could no longer move like a danseurs and his hands were wrinkled, unstable; he could not write. Her feathers were loosening and falling off with time, and her eyes were tired. But still they lived on, watching as the world changed and grew while she dozed in his lap and they watched the sunset from the docks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's better not to think realistically about a duck's lifespan in the Tutu world. She might even live to be 100 years old._  
>  \---Ikuko Itoh


	18. Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2013: Balance. Takes place in a "The Little Mermaid" AU.

After they had set out for clothes and found old rags to drape over their new bodies, the first thing they had to do was get used to the new mechanics. So they found a secluded spot at the beach at the bottom of a cliff, and there Fakir began to coach Ahiru on how to put her newfound limbs to use.  
  
“It’s simple after you get used to it,” he said, holding his hands out several feet across from the redheaded girl. “Just put one in front of the other and repeat.”  
  
Ahiru wobbled and grabbed at a nearby rock from the cliff to prevent herself from falling to the sand, her knees quivering. “That’s—easy for  _you_  to say.” She pouted. “How come you’re already so good at it when I can’t even stand up?”  
  
“Idiot. You’re the ones that got us into this mess. The least you could do is keep practicing and stop complaining.”  
  
“’M not  _complaining_.” She stuck her tongue out at him.  
  
“One foot at a time,” he reminded her. “And the feet are at the  _bottom_ ; the things in the middle are your knees.”  
  
“I—I knew that!”  
  
Slowly, agonizingly, Ahiru continued holding herself against the solid rock, her limbs unstable and quivering. When she was just a few steps away from her goal she abruptly tripped, falling forward with flailing arms. “Uwah—!”  
  
“Hey!” On instinct Fakir tried flapping his tail to speed forward and catch her, but—damn, he didn’t have that anymore. What was meant to be a rescue turned into two awkward teenagers crashing into one another and landing in the sand. They each gave a small groan of pain, sitting up and swatting away the dry sand sticking to their skin.  
  
“This is going to take a while.”


	19. Cloth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2013: Cloth. Contains Character Death.

He remembered the look Raetsel gave him when he first mentioned he was enrolling into the ballet division with Mytho at Goldkrone Academy. He remembered the look she gave him when he said he was going to be a knight. He remembered the look she gave him when he began carrying a duck by his side everywhere he went. And he remembered the look she gave him when he first asked her to teach him to knit.  
  
Ahiru’s eyes shined brightly when he first presented the small blanket, made with the finest thread and slaved over for hours as he fixed the mistakes made by his quivering right hand. It was made for her basket, but she constantly took it everywhere with her, the corner clasped in her beak as she waddled through the hallways.   
  
When she was an adult and grew her white feathers in, Fakir tied the blanket about her head like a bonnet and teasingly called her Mother Goose. After spending the day out by the lake he would scoop the wet duck up in the blanket and wipe her down, ruffling her feathers as he held her close. In the nights when she would find him awake and crying, she offered her treasured cloth to wipe his tears, even though he would never tell her the reason for their appearance.  
  
He held the blanket in his arms by the tree at the lake. The corners were worn, the blue color eroded away into grey, there were stains all over. But that was all evidence of how much it was loved and cherished through the years.  
  
He kissed the top, where he knew her little head rest underneath the cover.  
  
And he put her into the earth.


	20. Senses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2013: Senses. Takes place several years post-series where Ahiru is a human again and they are older. Contains implied sex.

He always hears her first. The turn of the doorknob, the creak of wood, the ruffling of her clothes. He hears her breathing. It’s steady, but slightly faster than usual. He hears her taking her shoes off, listening as the sweat from her feet squeaks against the damp texture. He then finally hears her voice, her sweet, sweet voice. “I’m home, Fakir!”  
  
He hears his own heart purr in response, but he doesn’t speak.  
  
There’s a silence as Ahiru evidently contemplates what to do next. Then, he hears her again. “I’m gonna take a shower real quick!” And then there’s the sound of the bathroom door being opened, the knob turning, water sprinkling. Fakir closes his eyes as he envisions her removing her clothing before standing in the tub and letting the shower sprinkle water down her body.  
  
Then, he can smell the scent of shampoo and body wash as she cleans herself. The humidity of the bathroom permeates through the air and makes it heavy in his lungs, filled with  _her_. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he pauses in the writing at his desk. It’s impossible to go back to his work now that she’s home, near.   
  
Several minutes later he sees her next, stepping out of the bathroom and into the hall with a towel wrapped around her body and water dripping down from her bangs. She grins, twisting the moisture out from that long red hair, and he wryly smirks before finally speaking.   
  
“Hey. You’re dripping all over the floor again.”  
  
“Oops.” But it doesn’t seem like she’s completely concerned with that, not with that  _look_  he’s giving her.   
  
Their eyes meet for several moments before he reaches a hand out and she gingerly takes it. He pulls her to him.  
  
Then he’s touching her. His hands pull the towel away from her body and trace her skin, inciting flushes and small gasps. They lie down to the bed and explore as her naked, wet body dampens the clothes he’s wearing. He thumbs her breasts, combs his fingers through her hair, brushes his nose to her neck and drags his hand down her thigh.  
  
Finally, he tastes her. He puts his mouth to her lips and drinks her in, quenching his thirst. He presses kisses over and over, down and down, and flicks his tongue over her navel. She arches her hips with a giggle and he tastes her further, groaning at the pain as she pulls at his hair.  
  
He hears her moan.  
  
He smells the perspiration in the air.  
  
He sees the flush on her face.   
  
He touches her skin.  
  
He tastes every inch of her body.  
  
It takes all five senses to love Ahiru.


	21. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2013: Trust. Takes place during canon, right after Ahiru first reveals her true form to Fakir.

As soon as the bundle of clothes was out of his hand, Fakir spun around on his feet and darted over to the moss-covered wall, immediately slamming his forehead against the rock and pressing a fist over one of his temples.   
  
The squawk of the redheaded girl as she fell back in the water with a splash went ignored, for the time being. He stood rigid in his spot, teeth gritting, and waited for her to get back in her damn clothes.   
  
“Y-You didn’t have to—- _throw_  them all at once!” he heard her say, her voice giving away the fact that she was slightly shivering from the loss of a feathered coat.   
  
Fakir shook his head, slamming his eyes shut. “Just shut up! Just—” He racked his brain for the right words, but it was still difficult to think straight after the revelation that had hit him in the last minute. “Just change already, damn it! Hurry up!”  
  
“It’s not like I’m just sitting here!” Ahiru shot back, giving a small grunt as she pulled on a wet sock. Putting on soaked clothing, when it was heavy and floppy and stuck to her skin, was much more challenging than she first thought.  
  
Fakir, however, just didn’t care. His mind was swimming and it was hard to get his thoughts straight after what had just happened. Even with his eyes stubbornly closed, he could still see her. Turning into what looked like a million speckles of light before emerging out from the heap of clothes as a  _bird_. And he wasn’t even getting started on the hectic events that happened after that.   
  
After a few minutes of awkward silence along with the quiet sound of wet clothes being pulled over skin, Ahiru turned to face Fakir, who was still standing facing the wall.  
  
“Are you ready to hear me out now?”  
  
“Are you  _dressed_?”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Swallowing, Fakir slowly turned around, the redness still blemishing across his face, though it had died down somewhat. Now there was time to cool his head, time to get back to the mission they were down here for.   
  
“… So what is it?”  
  
Ahiru shifted on her feet, still a little uncomfortable with the wet clothes. “Um—oh right! While I was down there, I could sense a different current of water that might lead us out of here if we go through that hole!”  
  
“A different current?” He turned over to said opening and walked closer to it, reaching a hand out over the rocks and peering inside. He narrowed his eyes, leaning in closer. Could she really sense things like that, and could he trust her?   
  
 _Should_  he trust her?  
  
Before he had any more time to dwell on it, Ahiru was standing next to him, holding out her hand.   
  
“I could lead you down the current. Rue and Mytho may be at the end, so…”  
  
Fakir remained silent as he glanced to her, this girl. No, this… she was really a  _duck_. A duck did all of this. Got in his way, turned into Princess Tutu, restored Mytho’s heart shards… A duck could really do all of that?  
  
He had a lot of questions swimming through his mind, but right now they just didn’t have the time. Saving Mytho took precedence over everything else. 

His fingers twitched at his sides, before he reached up and allowed his hand to take hers. 

“… All right. I’ll trust you, then. Just once.”  
  
Ahiru’s face melted into relief, and her fingers enclosed over his gloved hand tightly. “I promise I know what I’m doing, we’ll definitely get out fine! I guess that’s one good thing about being a… well, a…”  
  
She wasn't quite ready to say it out loud, and both of their faces immediately blushed crimson at the memory of what just happened a few minutes before.   
  
Stammering, Fakir tugged her hand, stepping into the gaped entrance. “L-Let’s just get going already. We don’t have time to lose.”  
  
“M-mm.”


	22. Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Fakiru Week 2014: Green.

During the cold long months Ahiru was separated from him every year, Fakir’s writing became barren and dead, just like the winter.

He would walk through the snow-spotted woods, feeling nothing in his hands or his heart. Usually a peaceful promenade through the wilderness would be able to spark a small ounce of inspiration in him, but it simply wasn’t to be, for those days. What hope was there without his muse?

Ahiru was naturally a duck, and he couldn’t keep her from her instincts. Every winter she would fly off on a random date as if on autopilot, leaving him to gaze at the sky and mark the days before she returned.

His breath would puff out in a white mist as he wandered aimlessly through the worn-down path, boots crackling on twigs and slush. The air was silent around him, all signs of life either hibernating or far away to escape the cold. Sometimes he’d wish he could do the same, if only to shorten the length of time they were separated.

But eventually he would always find what he was looking for. Crouching along the edge of the path, he’d cup his hands delicately around a small, green sprout, almost insignificant when compared to the rest of the scenery. The first sign of spring, of life returning. In just a few short weeks the forest would be covered in the color again, but for that moment Fakir’s eyes were fixated on the tiny plant, fighting to stay afloat amongst the splotches of snow.

And for the first time in months, he’d feel that emotion of hope Ahiru always lit in him. 


	23. Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Fakiru Week 2014: Test

“… A Test of Courage?”

Ahiru nodded, sighing. “Pique and Lilie are organizing one this year, and… and before I knew it, they’d signed me up to test it!” She gave a small whimper, covering the top of her head with her hands as if in a protective shield. “They said there would be ghosts and monsters and all sorts of scary stuff… and I don’t wanna disappoint them, but…”

Fakir could only give her a bewildered look, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t get it. You’ve faced the Ghost Knight and the Prodding Bridge and even the Raven, haven’t you? What would be so scary about something ridiculous like that?”

“Th… they can be really scary sometimes…” Ahiru mumbled. Then she continued, poking her two index fingers together. “So that’s why I was wondering if, um… could you maybe come with me?” she rushed the last part out in one breath, bowing her head low and holding her hands out in the mime for pleading without even realizing it. “I promise it won’t take long! Or if you’re too busy then that’s okay, but—”

“Why would you need me there?”

There was a pause, and Fakir noticed that she began toying with her fingers again. Her lips pursed almost pout-like, which could be heard through her voice. “Well I just thought that I wouldn’t like going alone and that it’d be way too scary and maybe if you were there it wouldn’t be so bad ‘cause you being around in general kinda always makes me feel better anyway so…” She trailed off and glanced to the side, giving another sigh.

Fakir didn’t see her glance because he was suddenly too busy looking elsewhere as well, feeling the slightest hint of warmth in his neck that he hoped she didn’t catch on to. When she put it like  _that_ … “All right, fine.”

And so a few days later Fakir found himself standing with Ahiru out by the old site of the ‘Prodding Bridge’ in the dead of night. Pique and Lilie felt that the location would enhance the atmosphere, Ahiru had explained, but Fakir really couldn’t care less about the details. Her two friends just wanted to put Ahiru through their absurd ‘Test of Courage’ thing, and he planned on leaving as soon as it was done and over with.

But…

“QUA – !” Ahiru’s quack-like yelp echoed through the cold night air as a bush nearby began to suspiciously shake and rustle.

Fakir glared at it, before turning back to her. “It’s just Dilia shaking the bushes.”

“Ah—oh, ehehe, was that it…?” she chuckled nervously, trying to calm down her erratic heartbeat. “That really startled me.”

“Even just something like that?”

“Well when it’s dark out and at a creepy place and you  _know_  there are people who’re gonna try to scare yo—AIEEEE!” This time she jumped nearly a foot in the air when a low “ _ooohhhh_ ” sound began emanating from behind a building.

Fakir deadpanned. He didn’t even bother glancing toward the source. “That was Dillan moaning.”

Again, Ahiru tried to laugh it off, but it was clear she was still trying to get her bearings back. And it continued on for the next half hour as they followed Pique and Lilie’s signs and came across some rather amateur attempts at frightening scenes. The grave marker was obviously plastic and fake, the blood was just red paint, the bugs littering the ground were rubber toys he’d seen at the store just earlier that week, etc.

But no matter how often he debunked every inane trick, Ahiru still remained on edge and easily susceptible to them. For the most part it only made Fakir roll his eyes and wonder how long it would take until they were finished.

But then a figure dressed in a monster suit suddenly darted out and clasped Ahiru’s shoulders, causing her to jump and issue the loudest scream yet before all but diving into Fakir, clawing at his arm. He was about to admonish her and let her know it was just another trick, but then noticed her quivering against him, and decided they’d had enough. Sending a deadly glare to the costumed student, he grasped Ahiru’s arm and began leading her away. “Come on. We’re done here.”

“Qu—! But— wait, we haven’t finished the test!”

“Forget about the damn test,” he growled. “It’s nothing but a waste of time.” Sure, maybe that really was the case at first when it was just a yelp or a start every once in a while, but even if the tricks were amateur and silly, they were now legitimately terrifying her. And that bothered him a lot.

Ahiru stumbled over her feet a few times before gathering herself and trotting close next to him, her arm still in his hold. She hesitated a moment, before shifting so that instead of holding onto her, their arms linked together. If he didn’t like that, he’d let go, right?

He didn’t, and Ahiru found herself thankful. Maybe it was silly, but even just his close proximity was already making her feel better. “Eheh… I guess you’re really not scared of anything, huh?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied, not looking at her. He continued leading the way, heading toward a part of town more brightly lit. “You haven’t already forgotten, have you?”

Ahiru realized her slip-up, and grew flustered. “A-ahhh, I didn’t mean stuff like—like ravens or—I mean like ghosts and monsters and mysterious things like that!”

“I’m not afraid of our classmates dressing up and making absurd noises,” he said flatly.

“Well…” she drifted off, unconsciously tightening the grip of her arm linked with his as she glanced away. “Here you are helping me and making me feel better… ‘n I wanna be able to do the same for you, you know?” The last part came out quietly, as if she hadn’t really thought over her words before they were in the open.

“… Idiot,” he mumbled in response, and she couldn’t see his expression as he was still facing ahead. “You’ve… done that plenty, before.”

As they came upon a well lit street, Ahiru smiled to herself as her eyes drifted down to the link of their arms.

‘ _Courage_ ,’ Edel had told her once upon a time, flashing a necklace in her hand. ‘ _Two gems made into one_.’

Maybe she failed Pique and Lilie’s ‘Test of Courage,’ and rather spectacularly at that. Maybe she’d never grow out of being a person who was scared easily. But maybe it didn’t really matter in the end, when Fakir was by her side. 


	24. Gate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Fakiru Week 2014: Gate

“It’s just at the edge of the clearing. You should be able to see it soon.”

Ahiru still tried squinting as if she could see through the thick gathering of trees, wondering what it was that Fakir wanted to show her so badly as she trotted behind him through the worn down path in the middle of the woods. He wouldn’t tell her exactly what it was when she asked; he wanted her to see it first.

Thankfully her patience didn’t need to be stretched for long. Another twist and turn, a duck underneath a large old log, and Ahiru suddenly found herself standing in the middle of a large clearing. What immediately captured her attention was the quaint little cottage some distance away, nestled comfortably in the corner. Its architecture was similar to the buildings inside Goldkrone, only much more weather-worn and with vines and other greenery climbing up the walls. A small garden with a variety of flowers decorated the sides, all closed in with a waist-length fence that outlined the premises.

“It’s so pretty!” Ahiru exclaimed, turning to Fakir. “Was this what you wanted to show me?”

Fakir nodded, continuing to lead her closer to the cottage. “An old friend of Charon’s lives here. Herr Hund – you may have met him once or twice.”

To be honest, Ahiru couldn’t remember him at all.

When they reached the fence’s gate, he went on: “He actually spoke with Charon yesterday. He’s leaving to journey across Europe for the next few years, and since he knew of us, said that we were free to live here until he returned. As long as we keep it clean.”

Ahiru’s eyes widened as she absorbed his words. “Live… live here? As in – as in the both of us? Is that really okay?”

“Just until Herr Hund returns, but hopefully we’d be able to find another place by that time…” Fakir reached up to scratch the back of his neck, casting a sideways glance toward her. “If possible, I’d like to not keep inconveniencing Charon for long.”

Ahiru didn’t quite agree with that phrasing, as Fakir’s father was very kind and accommodating and didn’t really seem to mind their presence much at all. But she could see where he was coming from. The idea of having a place… somewhere private, just for the two of them, sounded very appealing. Especially when all they had to do was keep it clean for its original owner.

She beamed, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll do my best, then! I’ve gotten pretty good at mopping floors and washing windows, you know.”

Fakir made a noise that wasn’t quite a chuckle, his lip quirking. “After all those years arriving late in class, I’d like to hope you would have learned a thing or two.”

Before Ahiru could retort at that, he reached inside his pocked and drew out a key, placing it in her small hands. “Here,” he said. “Let’s take a look around.”

Immediately forgetting about her comeback, Ahiru grinned and inserted it in the lock. The gate opened with a long creak, and as they walked in she felt that not only had she opened the physical gate, but also one to a new step in their lives. 


	25. Fantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Fakiru Week 2014: Fantasy. Contains illicit smooching.

She is beautiful. She is beautiful and human, and as she reaches out to tug him by the sleeve and goad him into sitting next to her on the bed, Fakir wonders how she’d ever want to direct such a sweet look in her eyes towards someone like him.  Or say his name so adoringly, or reach out and gently place a petite hand over his heart. She must have felt it beating erratically as she shifts closer to press her soft lips to his skin, and he wants to melt right then and there. He manages to breathe the first syllable of her name before those lips find his next, and he feels like he really will melt.

He reaches to touch her in return, hesitating just over her shoulder, before gently brushing his fingers over the thin white strap of her dress and daringly slipping it down. Was this really allowed?

Ahiru pulls back after a few moments and the image of her, loose red hair framing her flushed cheeks and bright blue eyes, makes him want to lean back in and continue what they were doing. But she holds a finger to his lips and smiles, the expression leaving him a little bit transfixed with the pink color. For the moment he stills and waits.

Shifting closer, chest to chest, cheek to cheek, she breathes against his ear and speaks.

“ _QUACK_!”

Fakir wakes with a start and nearly jolts right off the bed, hair frazzled and shirt dampened with just a bit of sweat here and there. Confused and not quite back in the real world yet, his eyes dart around the room in search of the girl with red hair – only for them to drop to his lap to find a flailing yellow duck instead.

Reality bites him. He deflates, and runs a hand through his hair before patting the top of her head. “What moron, what is it…” he mumbles, swallowing down any hint of disappointment in his voice. He continues petting her gently as he waits for her to calm down and convey what has her distressed so early in the morning.

_If anything_ , he thinks dryly to himself,  _I’m the one who’s the moron._


	26. Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Fakiru Week 2014: Flower.

The curse was in her tongue, the most difficult of all to remove.

Fakir had almost forgotten of its existence entirely when Ahiru regained her human form once again. But he was reminded one day when she crept up behind him as he was working at his desk and sheepishly asked about it. Princess Tutu’s curse, she wondered aloud. Did it still apply to her, as a girl and after so many years since the story ended? Would she still disappear if she ever were to confess her feelings?

Fakir had stilled in his seat, silently chastising himself for ever letting it slip his mind. Though hopefully it wasn’t something that would be  _too_  difficult to research and write about. But at the same time he didn’t immediately understand what would prompt Ahiru to suddenly bring it up out of the blue—

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Abruptly turning the shade of a beet, Fakir turned back to his desk and stammered that he’d do some digging and find out. She needn’t worry, he assured. If the time ever arose where she’d want to confess feelings of love… he’d make sure she could.

Fakir spent nearly a month holed up in the library. He researched every story that featured a curse, every prince turned into a frog, every princess put under a sleeping spell. Many were solved with true love’s kiss (a notion that left his ears burning red), but for all he slaved and researched, the fact of the matter was that no one in the stories ever  _escaped_  from them. What may have worked inside may not hold the same principles in the real world.

There were no solutions.

When Fakir finally broke the news to Ahiru some weeks later, his heart clenched at the way her face fell. If she were to live with the curse forever, then never would she be able to confess her love… not even once. Her blue eyes held back tears as Ahiru shakily thanked him for going through all the trouble for her, and it was that smallest crack in her voice that led him to his decision.

Before she could turn around and withdraw to the privacy of her room, Fakir reached out and grasped her hand, squeezing.

 _If you can’t ever say it_ , he promised, his heart pounding,  _then neither will I_.

Ahiru really did begin to start crying then, but not out of sadness.

As their relationship blossomed, they began to look for new ways to express their feelings for one another while never once permitting themselves to utter those three words.

Ahiru turned around one day to find Fakir positioned with his hands cupping over his heart, and she beamed brightly as she reciprocated the gesture before he initiated a pas de deux. She could feel his love in the gentle yet strong way he held and guided her, and he could see it in her sparkling eyes as she gazed up to him.

They didn’t stick with strictly only using ballet and mimes. There were many ways to convey love, and Ahiru wanted to find all of them. It was there in the language of his expressions, the way he would come home with bread fresh from the bakery, the way he would wake up at the crack of dawn right along with her to feed the birds. One day a passing traveler taught them a few words from Gebärdensprache – the German sign language, and Fakir and Ahiru took to signing the words they needed to each other as they passed in the academy hallways.

But as much as they improvised, sometimes Ahiru still felt that guilty ache. Fakir understood the reason, of course, but he could never understand the feeling. His stance to never verbally speak those words was a choice on his part. Ahiru’s wasn’t.

Her tongue was a bird that wanted to escape from its cage, but would immediately be shot down were it ever to fly. And while she was happy, so very happy, that even if the words were taken from her she still had those feelings, sometimes it bubbled up in a frustration that needed an outlet. Every once in a while Fakir would find her asleep at her desk in the late night, a few loose parchments scattered over the surface. She wasn’t a Writer, not like him, but he knew as he skimmed over her work that she wasn’t writing a story.

_I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you, Fakir. I love you so much, Fakir._

His expression would soften as he gently scooped her up in his arms and tucked her into bed. In times like this, the most he could do was stay by her side, just as he promised.

One day Fakir waited for her by the sidelines with a single red rose in his hands, watching as the intermediate class finished their final performance of the season. Ahiru’s face shined when she spotted him, and bounded straight over to greet him despite her aching feet and sore muscles, breathing heavily. He congratulated her with a smile and presented her the flower.

As she took it gingerly, he went on to explain that even flowers could hold meanings. Red roses, for example, meant love. And not just those; there were many other flowers that meant different kinds of love. Roses, carnations, tulips, primroses… he could make an entire bouquet for her one day, made of nothing but how much he loved her.

Ahiru blinked and blushed. Every opportunity Fakir found to express his love, he always took. It gave her butterflies, and she thanked him while holding the single flower close to her heart. She had no idea, she admitted, of just how many ways there were to convey special feelings. 

Fakir nodded, reaching out to cup her cheek.  _So you see?_  he said quietly.  _It’s not the end of the world if we can’t speak it._

She tilted her head in to his touch, understanding. He was right. When he could make her so lightheaded just from a flower, she didn’t feel so locked up anymore.

And Fakir leaned in to once again convey his love for her, in Ahiru’s favorite way. 


	27. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Fakiru Week 2014: Time

Almost immediately after Fakir and Ahiru became ‘official,’ the betting began.

“I put in a couple of months.”

“A couple? That’s generous, even for you. I put in four weeks.”

“Teenage relationships don’t ever last that long, and we’re talking about  _Fakir_ here… so I say just one week.”

Ahiru slumped over and sighed, trying to tune out the murmurs that seemed to follow her everywhere for the last few days. She could understand why people would talk – after Mytho and Rue left, it was like he was the only dancer left worth talking about, and she didn’t forget how there were many people who called themselves part of the ‘Fakir Faction,’ so she could get why they’d be upset when he started dating someone, she could especially get why when he was dating  _Ahiru_ , just simple awkward Ahiru, but…

She still didn’t like hearing those things!

Ahiru abruptly let out a noise of frustration, frazzling at her hair wildly as she sat between Pique and Lilie in the girls’ dressing room.

“Uh, something wrong?” Pique asked.

“ _Wrong_?” Lilie immediately perked up with stars in her eyes. “Oh, my! You’re having a lovers’ quarrel with Fakir already!”

“Eh?” Ahiru started, and then waved her hands about. “Wait, no no no, that’s not it at all!”

But Lilie was already off in her own little world. “How terrible! Absolutely terrible, Ahiru! You two can’t seem to mix and match and are always going up and down, up and down, you’re simply not suited for each other and while it’s so much fun, he just can’t take it anymore!” She practically quivered, pressing her palms into her cheeks, until she loosened and sighed wistfully. “But you two didn’t even last as long as I predicted… oh, well.”

“EH?” Ahiru gaped at her friend. “Don’t tell me you were doing that betting thing too, Lilie…”

“Three days!” Lilie answered in a sing-song voice. She giggled behind the cover of her hand. “Oh, but you didn’t even make it to two… Not to worry, you can always come to me for comforting!”

Ahiru gave a nervous chuckle, waving her hand. “Like I said, that’s not it at all…”

“Well then, what is it?” Pique leaned over, drowning out Lilie’s more obtuse ramblings.

“It’s…” Ahiru hesitated, before shaking her head. “Mm, it’s nothing. I was just a little nervous thinking about auditions, that’s all!”

“Oh, that was all?” Pique straightened, and then reached for their friend who was still listing off various ways Ahiru’s relationship could go awry. “Come on, you heard her. They’ve not broken up yet.”

“No way!”

Ahiru couldn’t stop herself from wincing at the use of ‘yet,’ but waved with a smile as they left the changing room. Maybe it was dishonest to hide the real reason she was frustrated, but…

Sighing to herself, Ahiru resumed changing back into her school uniform, giving a small pained noise when she removed her toe shoes and dressed them back in socks. As she stood up and grabbed her bag, she glanced back to the door leading to the practice room.

… This was something she should just talk to Fakir about.

She reached out for the doorknob, took a deep breath, and pushed it open. As expected, she was greeted with the sight of Fakir warming up by the barre. Every Tuesdays and Thursdays, he used the room for an hour of private practice after Ahiru’s class ended. He glanced up upon hearing her enter. “Hey.”

Ahiru gave a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey…” Just as she did every Tuesday and Thursday, she made her way over to the corner and plopped her bag down before seating herself. She always used her free period this way, even before they started dating. Whether friends or something different, she enjoyed chatting with him and watching him practice.

But Fakir seemed to notice immediately that she was quieter than usual. He looked at her levelly while stretching out his calves. “… Something wrong?”

“No, nothi—!” Ahiru answered on automatic reflex just as she did a minute ago, but caught herself quickly. Why was she being so silly – she just made up her mind to talk to Fakir about it, didn’t she?

Ahiru deflated in a long sigh, curling her legs up against her. “Actually, there kinda is something…”

She was glad Fakir was so patient, switching his legs during stretching and simply waiting as she tried to find the words.

Finally she blurted out in one breath: “Haveyouheardabouthebetting?”

Fakir snorted, once again switching positions and scowling deeply. “As much as I wish I hadn’t. It’s ridiculous and none of their business anyway.”

While Ahiru was glad Fakir didn’t seem to mind, it still didn’t quite mollify her enough. “You’re right, but… but what if they’re right, too?” Finally it was out. Ahiru couldn’t tell immediately that he had stiffened in his place. She began to twist at the hem of her dress, and the words continued spilling. “I mean, we’re not in a story anymore, right? So it’s not like it’s ‘and they lived happily ever after’ and that’s the end, not like with Rue and Mytho, and Pique and Lilie have even already dated some people and those haven’t worked out for very long and—!”

“Ahiru.”

Shame lit her cheeks as she quieted. Maybe it was silly to bring up such a thing when they’ve only been dating little more than a day already, but with all the murmurs and rumors being whispered wherever she went…

Fakir had ceased his stretching by then, lightly holding the barre as he looked at her with something in his expression she couldn’t discern, and a serious air fell over them. He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, as if trying to work the words through his head, before opening them again and fixing on her.

“I didn’t promise you just a few days, or weeks, or even years,” he said. “I promised you forever.”

Ahiru never would have been able to guess that Fakir was capable of saying such things back when they first met. Things that were so  _romantic_ , even, yet there he was, blushing at his own words after they had dated for little more than one day already.

The last time he said such words, they were dancing at the bottom of a lake as a last comfort before facing the end of the story together. While Ahiru knew that Fakir wouldn’t take back his promise the moment her life changed once again, she still felt touched that he’d stick by those words even when she was a human again.

Nodding, she stood up and drew closer to him, a sweet smile on her lips. “Mm… yeah. Asking that was kinda silly of me, huh?” She suddenly couldn’t understand why she would listen to all those rumors and betting in the first place, when he had already made such a promise long ago.  

“No.” Fakir shook his head, waiting until Ahiru was close enough for him to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s not silly if you weren’t used to people suddenly talking about you.” He glanced away. “Sorry. I should have mentioned it or something before, but it didn’t even occur to me. I didn’t realize anyone would even take it so far as to start  _bets_ , either,” he said, grimacing as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

“’S nothing to say sorry for,” Ahiru chirped, leaning against the barre a little. It was funny. Just a few short minutes ago she’d felt so dejected, but one simple reminder from Fakir left her cheerful and optimistic. She chuckled to herself. “Actually, if anything I’m the one who should apologize. I never realized how bothersome it might be to have so many people talking about you and stuff… and I did that a lot myself… talking about you and Mytho with my friends. That was before we really met.” 

Fakir lifted his hand from her shoulder to ruffle the top of her head in a comforting gesture, her cowlick slipping between his fingers. “Idiot. Stuff like that doesn’t bother me anymore.” After considering a moment, he added: “It’s when you can’t open a door without dodging an avalanche of eavesdroppers that gets on my nerves.”

Ahiru burst into laughter at the memory and leaned into him. In the closeness, she could tell that he was chuckling a little, too.

Being part of a hot topic by proxy would take some getting used to, as well as adjusting to their new relationship in general. But Ahiru wouldn’t worry anymore. They had time. They had all the time in the world.

They had forever. 


	28. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final entry for Fakiru Week 2014: Hands. This will probably be edited/rewritten for a fic I have on FFN called 'Between the Cracks' at some point in the future. 
> 
> I had lots of fun this year, thank you for reading and I'm looking forward to next year!

“Hey Fakir… do you think you could write a story about me, just one more time?”

“What?”

Ahiru tightens her grip on the glittering red pendant in her hand, her voice growing stronger with every word. “We can combine our ‘we want to protect Mytho!’ powers and save everyone!”

Fakir’s eyes widen as he considers her idea. “Combine our powers…”

“Mm.” Ahiru nods in affirmation. “While I’m a duck, I might need some help… I think that’s your strength, Fakir.”

For a moment he’s silent. It is true that she seems to be the only person he can write a story about…

He returns her nod. “Got it. Let’s head back to Autor’s house first, then.”

Fakir turns back to the direction of Goldkrone and hears Ahiru’s soaked shoes slopping on the ground just behind him, when Uzura breaks the momentary silence.

“Does this mean Ahiru’s going to stay a duck forever after this, zura?”

He stops in his place, glancing to the two. Ahiru also stops, and her eyes briefly fall to her feet. Then she adopts a small smile and crouches down to Uzura’s level.

“Yeah, that’s right… but it’s okay. That’s who I’m meant to be, remember?”

The puppet’s wooden lips remain slightly pursed as Ahiru straightens herself and turns her gaze to Fakir. “Ready?”

“Mm.”

They head off, walking in a short line as Fakir leads Ahiru and Uzura back to the broken down wall. He assists them both with climbing over the unstable stone before they fall back into the silent line, leaving Ahiru with her last thoughts as a human. Usually she could talk anyone’s ear off, but right now…

Unconsciously, her eyes trail down to Fakir’s uninjured hand, swaying lightly at his side.

She’s not having second thoughts. That’s certainly not it, not anymore. She’s no longer afraid and won’t waver, but…

She can’t help but desire the comfort and reassurance Fakir’s presence always brought to her. His hands and arms have always been the warmest, even back before she got to know him. And as the wind blows through her drenched clothes and starts making her shiver, Ahiru wonders if it would be okay if she just reached out… just one more time.

Lights flicker in their poles and a few townsfolk in raven-form pass by in a trance. Uzura begins to lightly tap on her drum again, the beats much less enthusiastic.

Ahiru draws closer to Fakir and extends her hand, her fingers tentatively brushing against his. He doesn’t react at first, but Ahiru notices he lifts his gaze from the ground to straight ahead. Before Ahiru has the chance to change her mind and give him some space, he slowly works his fingers around her hand and holds it. Squeezes it. The warmth floods her from the tips of her fingers to the center of her heart.

No words are needed. She returns the tight grip and they continue to walk in silence, save for Uzura’s tapping close behind them. Ahiru catches Fakir’s lips moving from the corner of her eye a few times, opening and closing, as if he wants to start saying something and holds it back at the last minute. But he never speaks.

Maybe he had needed that one last gesture of reassurance too, Ahiru thinks to herself.

They don’t let go. Not until the last possible moment.


End file.
